From Newbery Honor–winning author Erin Bow, a timeless tale of friendship and magic, delivered in a stunning, collectible package—first in a new series. Homeward Bound meets The Odyssey with the charm of Studio Ghibli in this instant classic for 8-to-12-year-olds about magical animals on a quest to find their lost witch.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Witchward Bound by Erin Bow, which releases on September 1st 2026.
Illustration by Kelly Murphy. Courtesy of Disney Hyperion
SYNOPSIS
Once upon a time there was a pair of witch’s helpers: a cat named Butter and a raven named Owl. The cat knows he is destined to be a great hero—just ask him. The raven wouldn’t recognize destiny if she flew into it beak-first. They do not get along.
But then their witch vanishes, and Butter and Owl must quest to find her. To reunite their family, they’ll have to outwit sirens and cyclops, gods and ghosts—and hardest of all, they’ll have to learn to work together.
Humorous and heartfelt, the story of Butter and Owl’s first adventure shows what it means to be a great hero—and what it takes to be a good friend. With enchanting illustrations by New York Times best-seller Kelly Murphy and sparkling words written by beloved, Newbery Honor–winning author Erin Bow, this tale is a classic in the making—a whimsical, witty, and warm story worthy of reading again and again.
EXCERPT
“Oh, Owl,” moaned Butter.
“Yes, Butter?” said Owl.
“Oh, Owl. Owl.”
“That’s me,” said Owl.
The cat and the raven with the confusing name were back aboard the good ship Bright Idea. The sea was smooth but it wasn’t smooth sailing. This was the first time that the two familiars had tried to sail without the help of the heron-god’s perfectly pointed wind. They were not very good at it.
With zigs and zags and tacks and turns they floundered along. Sometimes the sail fell limp. Sometimes the boom swung around when they didn’t mean it to. But still, they were more or less following the bright ring of the magic bell that pointed the way to their missing witch. Sometimes they saw an island far off, like a purple smudge in the clear sky.
Owl was happy.
Butter was not. Being nearly turned into a pig by a sorceress with magic fruit will do that to a cat.
“Oh, Owl,” he said. “Owl, I am such a fool.”
“Only about some things,” said Owl. This maybe doesn’t sound like a kind thing to say, but Owl meant it kindly. Anyway, it was and is true, not just about Butter, but about everyone in the world.
Butter groaned. “Just think,” he said. “Just THINK, I was led astray by fruit!”
“You didn’t go astray,” said Owl. “You mostly stayed put.”
“But to think that I could be tempted, Owl . . . just think . . .”
“Or,” said Owl. “Just don’t think? For a bit?”
The wind shifted and the sail swung.
“Coming about!” Owl shouted, riding upside down from the boom. This was her favorite part of sailing and she was getting a lot of chances to do it. The wind was bending, and the currents were pushing them about.
“Owl,” said Butter. “What are we going to do?”
“We’ll follow the bell, Butter. We’ll find our witch.”
“They were pigs, Owl. PIGS.”
“But I saved you, Butter,” said Owl. “I am a canny bird!”
Butter said nothing.
“Eat a sea slug,” said Owl. “You’ll feel better.”
“I’m not hungry,” muttered Butter.
“That’s probably because of all the fruit,” said Owl, flapping up to perch on the top of the mast.
Butter groaned and covered his head with his paws. “This is dire, Owl,” he said. “DIRE.” “Dire” was another word Butter liked. It just means “bad,” but it has a lot more gravitas.
“Cheer up, Butter,” Owl called. “Look, we’re almost there.”
Butter uncovered his face and looked where Owl’s thrusting black beak pointed.
Ahead of them was another of the purple smudges: an island. Or perhaps two islands: they were one lumpy humpy shape but there was a finger of light right down the middle. It looked as if someone had cut into the land like a loaf of bread, and had stolen the middle slice.
“That’s not the witch’s island,” said Butter. “We haven’t come nearly far enough.”
“Okay,” said Owl. “So maybe we are not almost there. But we are almost somewhere. And that’s good!”
“But what if those are bad islands, Owl?” asked Butter. “What if they are like the Isle of Ease?”
“See, that’s the problem right there,” said a new voice.
Butter’s back arched and his ears flattened, and he struck the pose generally known as Noble Cat, Fooled Once, Now Wiser and On His Guard. He saw nothing. It was Owl who spotted the big silver-shiny otter, swimming alongside the boat. She swooped down to the gunnel. The otter rolled onto its back and grinned up at her as it swished along.
“The clue’s in the isle part,” said the otter. “ ‘Island’ is a perfectly good word, and ‘isle’ means the exact same thing. So it’s of no use, except when some storyteller gets ahold of it and twists it sideways and turns it upside down. If you ever land at a spot called the Isle of Nice Things, you should get back in that boat and go.”
“We did,” said Owl.
Cautiously, Butter stretched his neck out and he peered over the edge of the boat. “Who are you?” he growled. His ears were pinned back.
“Quicksilver,” said the otter. “God of storytelling.”
“Hi,” said Owl. “This is Butter and I am Owl and we’re on a heroic quest.”
“I heard. I’m also an all-purpose messenger for wandering heroes.” With a leap and a twist, Quicksilver poured himself aboard. He was a big otter, fat and sleek. His grin was like a flash on a wave.
“So these islands,” said the otter, flicking his broad tail at the pair of islands with the slice of light between them.
“Are they isles?” Butter gulped.
“No, no, no,” said Quicksilver. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” said Butter. He looked up to where the twin islands were starting to loom in front of the Bright Idea.
“The trouble’s not with the islands,” said Quicksilver. “The trouble’s with the strait.”
“What strait—the straight what?” asked Butter.
“The strait straight ahead,” said Quicksilver.
Butter had been a land cat up until this adventure, and privately he was looking forward to being a land cat again. He was confused.
“Where the water goes between two islands, it’s called a strait. Straits can be dangerous. This one is. Something lives there.”
“A dire strait,” moaned Butter.
“What?” asked Owl. “What lives there?”
“Sirens,” said Quicksilver. “They are a kind of bird. Or a kind of fish. A birdy kind of fish. A fishy kind of bird. Something like that. They have a sweet song.”
